


Thorin's Fall | Withering Away

by BlackBirdAolen



Series: Thorin's Fall | A The Hobbit Series [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Giving Up, Lonely Mountain, M/M, Waiting, Withering, petrification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:59:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBirdAolen/pseuds/BlackBirdAolen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has lost everything. And Thranduil is powerless to stop what happens next...</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://ask.fm/BlackBirdAolen">Got a fanfic idea for me?</a><br/><a href="http://cheroshseiphar.deviantart.com/">My deviantART - full of original fiction.</a><br/><a href="http://blackbirdaolen.tumblr.com/">Snippets and ramblings on my tumblr.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorin's Fall | Withering Away

Time went on, trickling slowly by. Thorin had remained with the elves, but it was clear that his soul still was in agony. Thranduil did his best to accommodate his friend, to console him, to help him in any way possible. But it was painfully clear that Thorin had lost the spark of his joy in life. He was just wasting away slowly, becoming older seemingly over night. The once so proud and stubborn dwarf king had retreated into solitude, in every possible way imaginable. Thranduil sometimes doubted that even a word of his reached Thorin any longer. The broken looking gaze, the sheer aura of hopelessness surrounding Thorin was crushing.

Thranduil had come to his wits' end. He had tried to brighten his old friend's mood, but the more he tried, the more the elf felt as though he was losing Thorin to time quietly flowing its course. Sometimes, he even thought that he heard the soft whispering of sand flowing within an hourglass. Thorin was lost for this world. To accept this harsh truth was more than he cold bear.

This process had gone on for a few months, when Galadriel visited his realm. He bowed respectfully before her, then, without needing to hear her request, he showed her the way to a small opening in the woods, where Thorin sat on top of a flat stone. Unmoving, even in the rather harsh winds, completely oblivious to the visitors he had.

"The fire within him is gone." Galadriel closed her eyes, bowing her head just the slightest bit. "Smaug took it from him. Only darkness is left within his soul now. He can do nothing but wait for his end, I fear."

"So there is no way of saving him." Thranduil touched the burnt side of his face briefly. Galadriel could see straight through the guise, so he could drop the vain pretense, the lie he told himself. "I had hoped that you would know a way."

"I fear that this is beyond my wisdom." Galadriel smiled gently, touching Thranduil's hand with her fingertips. He could feel a tingling even on his burnt skin, as if she was reaching straight for it, instead of being blocked by his hand. "His fellow dwarfs are waiting for him. The halfling has been returned to his green home, no longer aware that he ever was on an adventure. He still caries the cursed burden, though." For a moment, her voice and gaze became distant, as if she was listening to something far away. "It is necessary so. His role in this story is not over yet. He will find a way, of that I'm sure..."

Thranduil nodded quietly. It didn't sit well with him that the fate of the One Ring would be left with a halfling, who barely knew anything about the world's imminent threats, and what the ring truly could accomplish. Yet he knew that, if one of them had accepted the ring as a gift, they wouldn't have stood a chance. Their own rings were pure, but the Nine, the Seven and the One were all tainted beyond words.

"Strange how fate takes shape." Thranduil grasped Galadriel's hand lightly, without squeezing it. "Did the light show you what would happen, once the dwarfs would reach the Erebor?"

Galadriel remained quiet for a moment. There was no need to hurry, though. Thranduil felt the same content with waiting and letting the winds speak to them. "I believe," she finally replied, her voice very quiet and distant still, "I believe that it was intended to be different. But by now, it's impossible to say what would have been the true path. Maybe, everything leading up to this moment was true. Maybe it was not the best. But it happened, without fail. So all that remains is the present moment."

Thranduil stared off into the distance. Thorin never once had moved, even though he should have felt the presence of Galadriel. Thorin's soul was open to everything now. It could be so easily wounded, yet it also should have made him aware of what was going on around him. Nothing indicated the latter, however. Thorin remained passive and distant, almost as though as he was slowly turning into the Lonely Mountain itself. It was a strange vision to behold, and yet to fitting. Thranduil sighed with a heavy hard. It was incredible how he already missed this stubborn, incorrigible dwarf.

Time went on. Moss began to grow on the stone. Thorin had become unmoving, sitting on the flat surface as though he already was petrified completely. Thranduil sometimes came closer to the dwarf, trying to wake him from his trance, but it was no use. Thorin would remain unmoving, no matter how much he tried to get to the dwarf. The soul had taken far too much damage.

It seemed to last an eternity, and then again, it happened in the blink of an eye.

By the end of the seventh month, Thorin had turned to stone. His sad eyes were averted from the Lonely Mountain, looking back into the opposite direction. Whenever the elves stood right in front of the petrified king, they could see the Lonely Mountain perfectly aligned in the distance. At sunset, it almost looked as though the last rays of sun became a brightly burning crown for the fallen king. And sometimes, it was whispered that the ghostly figures of his followers was seen standing around him, bringing him food, even a blanket, and small gifts from the spirits living in the woods.

Thranduil often stood in front of the statue, wondering if he could have done more. He wished that he had warned the dwarf more intently. If he had tried, he might have found a way to keep Thorin from continuing on his foolish quest. But in the end, it didn't seem to matter all that much. The dwarf had decided what his fate should be, and fate had accepted him with open arms.

The elves honored the late king in their way. Sometimes, they would light some incense, meditating in front of the statue for a while. Many of them could feel the soul of Thorin still residing within the stone body. Maybe, one day, Thorin could reawaken. He would not be a dwarf any longer, though. And only if he would be able to face his devastating defeat, he might be able to come to accept what had happened...

 

But until then, the Lonely Mountain would wait, now completely empty, for its new master.


End file.
